


Life is a Fucking Nightmare

by sterlynsilverrose



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, Gore, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, Misogyny, Murder, Not for the faint of heart, Racism, Self-Hatred, Swearing, Threats of Bodily Harm, Unapologetic Look at Kavinsky, Violence, did I mention violence, suicide ideation, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25102870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlynsilverrose/pseuds/sterlynsilverrose
Summary: We've All Read "Dream Thieves" at this point.All the reader sees is the end of the nightmare of Joseph Kavinsky. But, what we don't really see is exactly what leads up to that. This is an unapologetic look at Joseph Kavinsky and his daily life. It gives weight to the words:"Life is a fucking nightmare."
Kudos: 5
Collections: TRC Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I joined the big bang because I wanted to do something for this fandom so bad. I couldn't think of anything else to really do so I looked at the suggested prompts and the one that stuck out was about Kavinsky. Someone wanted an unapologetic and real look at his character and at first I was hesitant to take this on. It was a huge challenge for me, but I hope that people can read this and enjoy it. 
> 
> This story is not going to be for everyone. There are very dark themes so please, please, please take that seriously. If you read it and it makes you uncomfortable then I am not responsible because I warned you. Read the tags and make sure that this is the story for you. 
> 
> The art pieces are done for this story by the talented

The first thing Kavinsky heard upon waking up was the blood pounding in his ears, and the immediate start of pounding in his forehead. His throat felt scratchy and he pressed his hand over his eyes to try to relieve the pressure behind them. 

It didn’t help. 

_Fuck. I’m still alive._

He was almost disappointed. At least if he hadn’t woken up maybe the people around him would have at least had something more interesting to talk about than the normal shit they probably did. 

Kavinsky could almost hear their voices as they whispered in the hallways around Aglionby to each other as if it had nothing to do with them. 

_Did you hear they found K’s body?_

_Yeah man, they found his body cooked out at the abandoned fairground on the hood of his car._

_He shit himself._

He would have laughed if his head hadn’t felt like half of it was missing.

Kavinsky leaned down halfway off the hood of his car. His fingers smacked at some of the water bottles strewn around on the ground beside it. He was finally able to fish up one of the half empty water bottles, flicking the cap off it and downing the warm water. 

_Shit, that wasn’t satisfying at all._

Crushing the empty bottle between his hands, Kavinsky let his body go limp. The warmth of the hood of the car soaked through his wife beater making his already over heated body feel like he was melting. 

Fucking summer heat. 

His fingers closed over the brim of his cap beside him. Even that alone took much more effort than Kavinsky really wanted to give. Any sort of movement was being met with a drum solo on the back of his skull, and the pounding was only going to get worse. 

His only saving grace was that the sun was starting to go down.  
Finally, Kavinsky forced himself to tug the cap close to his side. He rolled himself onto his back and pushed himself up. The warmth against his skin was uncomfortable, but even more so was the feeling of how greasy his hair was as his fingers slid through it and it felt almost _wet_. 

How long had he been there? 

Placing his cap on his head, K quietly fumbled for the glasses hanging onto the side of his cargo pants pocket. They had been partially crushed at one point, but thankfully they were still intact. Even if the sun was about to go down, if he didn’t put them on he wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

Jamming them onto his face may have been a bad move. 

A piercing pain grated across the bridge of his nose. 

“Ow. Fuck!” He grumbled grabbing the bridge of his glasses to pull them away from his face a bit. Part of the nose piece had scraped across the tender skin and his eyes immediately teared up at the sensation. 

“Shit.” 

Kavinsky was off of his game. He couldn’t think of any other reason for his bad luck. He had turned and swung his legs over to the side and hopped off the car. When he did, the world tipped sideways and he went stumbling forward, trying to catch himself to make sure he didn’t fall. 

Thankfully he stumbled backwards and his ass hit his car behind him. 

“God Damn it.” He uttered, giving himself a moment to relax against the side of the car this time. He tried to get his body to calm down and listen, but his body rarely felt like it was his anymore these days. 

Add to the list of why he hated life. 

When he felt like his brain had finally caught up with his body, Kavinsky stood up and turned his attention over to his newest pet project. About fifteen feet from his own car there sat another Mitsubishi Evolution. 

“Now we’re talking.” Kavinsky slowly stalked forward, his hand resting on the bright white paint. When he had started the paint had been the worst part of pulling it back out. It had been so annoying he had even looked up the paint color at one point and studied it while he was high. 

After staring at it for a long time, he never had a problem with it again. 

Now, it was getting the finer details correct. 

He patted his pockets and sighed.

“Bullshit.” 

Kavinsky stalked around the car and looked at the outside. The tint, color and finer details looked good. It was almost a perfect copy. 

_Almost._

He was satisfied with everything, until he walked in front of the car. Self satisfaction immediately morphed into frustration. Everything had been fucking perfect except for the _lights_ on the front. It would have been more acceptable if there had been any lights to begin with, even if they had been the wrong type he could have at least played it off as intentional. But no, there were no headlights on this car. 

Defective. Imperfect. 

Before he even registered what he was doing, Kavinsky pulled his leg back and kicked at the driver side tire. “Piece of shit!” 

Turning back to look at his own car, he stumbled over and jerked the door open. Nearly falling into the driver’s seat. 

It takes a few moments and dumping almost everything in the passenger seat into the floorboard before Kavinsky is able to find his cell phone charger. He plugs in the usb cord and takes a few tries before he jams the end into the bottom of his cell phone. 

He looked again for another water bottle and didn’t find one among the mess in his floorboard.

_Next time I’ll make sure I bring a pack of water._

Yeah, like he would remember after this time. It would probably creep up on him again like it had this time. His mouth was distractingly dry, but at least he was able to grab his keys and jam them into the ignition and turned the key. 

Sweet, sweet, air conditioning. 

He tolerated the warm air, and as it cooled down, his body started to relax. The phone light up with a 1% on the display as the car idled. Kavinsky watched the display as it ticked up from 1%, to 2%, and then 3%. Finally he held down the power button and waited as the phone booted up. 

A quick check of the time and date, made him screw up his nose. 

Wednesday, August 17th. 

7:30 P.M. 

“No fucking wonder.” He had literally been out for _two_ days. The dryness in his nose and mouth, the headache that was worse than usual, and the general overall weakness? 

All explained by staying passed out for two days. 

_It’s not like anyone will come looking for me._

Business would continue as normal for those around him. Even his friends would probably just continue on without him saying much of anything for a week before they’d even start to get concerned. 

That was just his life and the way that he had set himself up anyway. 

If he had really wanted people to care, he wouldn’t live the life that he did. No, there wasn’t anyone to reach him and Kavinsky knew that. Life was just an unfortunate game that he seemed to have the overwhelming luck to win at. Of course, when you could pull out things from your dreams and you could dream anything there wasn’t a lot that made life hard to live. 

But just like a cheat code on a game, it made things infinitely more boring. 

Kavinsky hated to be bored.

He came up with his best plans when he was bored. 

There were one or two missed calls, but nothing interesting enough to catch his notice. However, there were plenty of texts to go through. 

He looked at the preview texts: 

**Dawg (Skov)** \- _What the hell happened to…_

_Boring._

**Princess (Swan)** \- _Disappearing for a few…_

_Don’t care._

**Chyna (Jiang)** \- _What do you want me to …_

_Can’t deal with it right now._

**Bitch (P)** \- _Where did you go?_

Kavinsky rolled his eyes so hard his head started to pound with a vengeance all over again. He tapped on Prokopenko’s text and tapped back a quick response. 

_I fucking died._

The response was almost instantaneous. 

P - _No shit?_

Kavinsky wrinkled his nose and shook his head as he sighed. Sometimes Prokopenko could be such a mother. He was the only one, and it wasn’t even because he really cared all that much himself. 

Refusing to type out a response, Kavinsky sighed leaned forward, resting his chest against the steering wheel. His eyes slid shut behind his sunglasses. Soon it would be too dark to drive with shades on and he would really have a problem. 

Instead of doing what he should to get home, Kavinsky thumbed through his texts to his pack chat and tapped on it. 

**Dawg** : _Yo this chat has been silent for a few days._  
**Chyna** : _That doesn’t mean anything bad._  
**Dawg** : _I’m bored. Someone entertain me._  
**Princess** : _You should find some entertainment like your mom._  
**P** : _Idiot._  
**Dawg** : _What’s what supposed to mean?!_  
**Princess** : _Your mom found me last night, Skov._  
**Chyna** : _Woah…That true? Didn’t know you like older women. Or women._  
**Princess** : _Just Skov’s mom. Have you not seen her, she has a great ass._  
**Dawg** : _...._  
**P** : _Great here we go again…_  
**Dawg** : _Dude, do I have to punch you in the face again. Quit talkin’ shit about my mom!_  
**Princess** : _Worth it._  
**Chyna** : Gross…  
**Dawg** : _When I say I’m bored. I mean I have no drugs and we haven’t heard from K either…_

Kavinsky tapped out a lazy response. 

**K** : _What’s up fuckers?_  
**Chyna** : _Speak his name and he shall appear._  
**Princess** : _What’s up?_

Instead of answering, Kavinsky tossed his phone into the passenger seat and put the car into drive. He would have to come back eventually to deal with some of the cars, but right now there were only a few things on his mind: get home, get a shower, and get food. 

After that he could deal with whatever else was going on and formulate a plan after that. 

_Even if my body wants a different kind of sleep._

A dreamless sleep. 

He put his foot on the gas, and started the sizable journey home in silence. Anything he would have put on inside the car would have just made his headache worse anyway. 

After a twenty minute drive, Kavinsky pulled into the driveway of the large home he and his mother live in together. He killed the engine and crawled out of the car. He wasn’t surprised when he opened the door to see a scene out of a home invasion movie. 

The house was huge on the outside, and lavishly decorated on the inside on a good day. 

But right now, just in the entryway there was glass everywhere from the large mirror on the wall. It littered the floor and the small side table in small pieces. Kavinsky, shook his head and kicked at some of the shards with his boot. There was something satisfying in the way the small pieces crunched under the soles of his combat boots. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked into the large living room. 

Their housekeeper was flitting around, muttering under her breath in Bulgarian as she righted another chair. Kavinsky took in his surroundings. 

In the living room, there was more damage. The glass panels in the coffee tables were also smashed out, the painting which had been a gift to his mother from his father that usually hung above the fireplace was down with long slashes in the canvas. Another small table was turned over on its side, and there were flecks of blood on the marble floor. 

Kavinsky couldn’t stop the rueful grin on his lips, “Good old mom’s been at it again, huh?” 

The older woman stopped and glared at him, before she ignored him and turned right back around. Kavinsky chuckled and headed up the stairs, careful to grab the railing. The smell of wine permeated the staircase as he picked his way around three or four shattered bottles. 

_Dad’s part of the collection of course._

He was going to be pissed the next time he decided to show his face. 

_But that’s not my problem._

It really wasn’t, he wouldn’t step between them when it came to that stuff. His father was heavy handed and as long as he and his mother kept it their business Kavinsky wouldn’t have to deal with it. 

But, it rarely stayed their business. 

Finally, he was back in his own room with good air conditioning. 

_Finally._

Even with the air running, his room was stuffy and dark. He turned on the overhead fan to get more circulation going, and then he turned and opened the curtains and the window. Even with the air going, it felt better to let the room air out. It smelled of stale smoke, b.o., and a thick syrup. 

On his desk was a pack of twizzlers. Kavinsky grabbed the pack and split them open, shoving three of them into his mouth at once and chewing with his mouth open. The sugar in his mouth perked him up enough that he took a few more and chomped on them, swallowing down the hard stale pieces. 

Stepping away from the desk, K stumbled over a few alcohol bottles that were by the leg of his desk. Kicking one towards the door of his room, he reached down and grabbed one of the other bottles. 

It was a type of vodka that was almost 200.00 a bottle. The bottle itself was handcrafted in Italy, the label was gold infused and the top was shut with a wax seal. He had bought six bottles at once. 

_How many do I have left?_

Kavinsky shrugged to himself and turned. On the floor by his bed was his school blazer, dusty and musty from disuse. He picked it up with one hand by the collar of it. Something unpleasant twisted in his gut as he turned and dropped it into the small trash pail next to his desk. 

_I won’t be alive long enough to use it._

It was a fact that Kavinsky could feel in his bones like an itch in the back of his brain. He unscrewed the cap on the vodka and tipped the bottle and let it soak the material of his jacket through. He watched as the liquid glugged out of the bottle and listened to the sound until it was completely empty. 

The bottle rolled from his fingers and landed on the carpet with a muffled thunk. 

He swiped the book of matches off his desk and struck a match across the tinder. 

The flame sparked to life. 

Kavinsky watched as the flame licked the top of the match and moved down the stick. It was almost mesmerizing. He felt his lips lift up at the corners as the fire moved closer and closer to the tips of his fingers. 

Just when he felt the sting of it, he let the match fall into the wastebasket. 

It took no time at all for the fire to burst to life. 

Kavinsky took out another match and struck it up to keep the party going and tossed that one into the bin too. 

The smoke reached the fire alarm before he was completely satisfied with flicking matches into the bin. But, finally the jacket had caught fire. It had only taken seven matches. 

His door slammed open and the housekeeper came into the room with a fire extinguisher. She doused out the melting and on fire trash bin before rounding at him and snarling in Bulgarian, “What the hell is wrong with you boy?” 

Kavinsky couldn’t take the little old lady seriously. Maybe if she had been younger and not a housekeeper, but her anger just made him laugh. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from between his lips as he half sat down on the bed and leaned back against the wall, “All that prestige going up in smoke, bitch. It’s worth watching some things burn.” 

“I’m tired of you and your mother. You’re both sick.” She glared at him and moved out of his room slamming the door as hard as she could behind her. 

Kavinsky shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Maybe that itch in the back of his mind would become a self fulfilling prophecy someday soon.


	2. Chapter 2

“So what do you want to do about money collection?” 

It had been a few days since Kavinsky had woken up on the hood of his car. 

His skin had just finished peeling, and he no longer felt uncomfortable in his skin in a way that he didn’t do to himself. The sun had also seen fit to add more freckles across the tops of his shoulders. 

_It’s a shame I don’t tan._

No, he just got less pasty looking and more lobster. 

“K?” Prokopenko prodded again softer this time. 

Kavinsky turned to look at his partner in crime. 

Even if the sun had added freckles to his shoulders, that number had nothing on the sheer amount that painted Prokopenko’s healthy looking skin. The other boy sat in the passenger side of the car, arm hanging out with a cigarette dangling between his pointer and middle finger. His hair had been recently cut short, shorter than Kavinsky thought looked good. In fact, Prokopenko’s ears stuck out obscenely far from the sides of his head. 

He had scarred on the right side of his upper lip from when he had jumped into one of K’s fights unprompted at the end of the summer. The contrast of the white scar on his skin made him look rougher than he actually was. 

Belatedly, Kavinsky shrugged and hefted up the bottle of Beluga Vodka and looked at the fish on the label. He tipped the bottle against his lips and took two good chugs of it. The alcohol was smooth, though that didn’t stop the burn from sliding from the back of his throat down to the pit of his belly. 

It was more pleasant than the feelings that he tamped down and buried in his brain. 

Swallowing one more mouthful, Kavinsky turned back to Prokopenko, “I don’t fucking care. Take care of it like you normally would.” 

‘Or why do I keep you around?’ didn’t need to be spoken. 

_You know why you keep him around._

No. 

Not that. That was fucking _gross_. 

Kavinsky grimaced at that and took another pull from the bottle and then looked at it again. How much had it cost? He leaned back in the seat and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling as he rolled his wrist and watched the light dance off the glass. 

Prokopenko seems satisfied enough with that answer to turn his attention back to his cigarette. He lifted it, took a drag, and flicked it onto the asphalt beside the car into the school parking lot. 

No one outside the car says a word. 

They aren’t that fucking stupid at least. 

Prokopenko paused in his movements for a second before he slipped his cellphone out of his pocket. He fiddled with the front for a moment before pulling up a memo on it. He started to type something in and Kavinsky leaned over into his space, his shoulder touching P’s. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Dumas still owes you money.” Prokopenko sighs and shifts, but doesn’t pull away. 

“How much?” 

“Thousand easy.” 

_Chump change._

“Take it out of his ass later-” Kavinsky leaned back into his own space and finished the bottle. 

“-Oh. Take big Dawg with you. He was complaining about being bored? Give him something to do.” Kavinsky added as he tossed the bottle into the back seat. 

Skov was at least useful for some things. With the tiny dick energy he exuded, the enforcer needed some way to compensate. So why not help him out some with small jobs. Scaring a few preps had never been a problem. 

“The hell are you taking notes for?” 

Prokopeno shrugged and continued to tap in notes. “Just need these notes for some things. Nothing to do with what we were talking about.”

Kavinsky huffed and nudged at Prokopenko’s knee to check the floorboard for another bottle of vodka. 

There weren’t any. 

“Good. I’d hate to think that you’re that fucking stupid. No one needs notes on something crime related except the police. Might make you more of a liability than part of my pack.” 

Prokopenko’s fingers paused for a second, before he continued to type quietly. 

The threat hung in the air between them. Prokopenko’s dad had died for his own. Whether it was because he was stupid and his father took care of his own loose ends, or he did something and died for his father, Kavinsky didn’t know. 

However, Kavinsky was sure that Prokopenko would do the same if it came down to it. 

The world was his for the taking.

There weren’t any rules when you were king. 

“Are we doing the school thing today?” Prokopenko slipped his phone into his pocket and turned to look at Kavinsky. 

He was over school already, and they hadn’t done anything more than sit in his car in the parking lot. Kavinsky couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“You go do the school thing, I’ll go dream.” 

Prokopenko hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him, “I’ll get you the notes for class today then.” 

“Don’t bother. I don’t want them. Tell Jiang to set up for a substance party. ASAP.” Kavinsky called after Prokopenko’s retreating form. 

Prokopenko nodded and waved over his shoulder as he adjusted his backpack and disappeared into the throng of students streaming in the front of the school. Kavinsky watched for a second longer before rolling up the window and putting his car into his reverse. 

Aglionby disappeared behind him as he pressed his foot to the gas, and soon Henrietta also disappeared as he made his way to his favorite dreaming place. 

It was the middle of the day in summer and Kavinsky found himself back on the hood of his car. He had a cigarette between his lips and his arms against the blistering heat behind him as the hood amplified the heat from the sun. 

_What would it be like to die right here?_

Why was he so preoccupied with death these days? 

It was an interesting thought to flirt with no matter why he was having the thoughts. The idea that someone would find his blistered and cooked body out here and the talk that would follow were what he was most interested in. 

No one would miss him, but everyone would at least feel a relief. 

After all, he was the darkness in their light little world. Or at least the darkness that people could identify. 

He wasn’t the first kid to sell drugs on campus, he wasn’t the first person to have to give someone money to shut them up, and he definitely wasn’t the only kid there to like booze. 

No, he was just more vocal about it. 

The known darkness that everyone could point to and whisper about. Don’t be like K. 

_It’s not so bad being the one everyone hates._

After all, what could anyone really do to him. He was two steps ahead and no one really matched him to make things interesting. 

No, not even Ronan Lynch after losing his fucking father was anyone worth noting. 

A poor sap who lost his father and couldn’t do anything but rebel. Gansey was even worse than him though, the perfect student that had everything handled and looked as if he could be the next president. 

Kavinsky turned his head to the side and spat off the side of the car. “Fucking useless. All of them.” 

Pushing himself up, Kavinsky retreated into his car and parked underneath a set of trees. He rolled down the windows on his car and crawled into the back seat. Thankfully there was a wind that whispered through the car and made it less hot than it was outside. He dug into his console and pulled out a pill and put it on his tongue. He swallowed it down with a bottle of water and curled up on his back seat. 

_Enough of those stupid thoughts. It’s time to dream._

Maybe this would be the time that his body would give out and he would never wake up again. 

As his consciousness fled, Kavinsky answered his thought. 

_God. I hope so._


	3. Chapter 3

It happens suddenly. 

Kavinsky swallows the pill, and leans back and once his back hits the seat the momentum he feels going backwards doesn’t stop. He feels himself dropping, dropping, dropping, and suddenly everything flashes a brilliant white around him. 

It’s several seconds before he regains his ability to see. 

In fact, his hearing comes back first and all he can hear is the wind whipping by him through grass. The smell in the air is a metallic stale smell, which absolutely makes no sense to him. But, things seem to get a little more clear when his sight fades back in. 

Spots dance before his eyes, but he finally takes in the scenery around him with a laugh. 

_Of fucking course._

The immediate area he’s in is devoid of anything but tall dead grass. It hissed as he tromped through it to try and get a better look at his surroundings. He felt the oppressiveness that came with his dream being aware that he’s there. 

Kavinsky isn’t welcome. 

He doesn’t need anyone or anything to tell him that. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck and the way that his hair involuntarily stood up at the silent provocation. 

While the grass is dead, that doesn’t mean there aren’t large apartment buildings to the north. The buildings themselves look normal enough although dilapidated and neglected. On the left building there is nothing interesting there, but on the right one across from it there is a faded picture of Stalin. 

_Huh. That’s more interesting._

This reminded him of that horror movie the pack had come over and decided to watch. Kavinsky rolled his eyes and snorted at the way Prokopenko had crowded his space, Skov and Jiang had popped out the porn video he had playing in the background as he snorted another line, and Swan had found the remote to get through the menu and into the actual movie. 

He’d been sore at the time at all of them for messing with the porn, but when they all coked up and made fun of the movie, maybe just _maybe_ it had been fun. 

“Which one would you fuck?” Swan had asked. 

“None of them, they’re all too stupid.” Jiang had reasoned as he put his feet up on the seats.   
Prokopenko sniffed out loud and rubbed at his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. “Maybe the brunette.” 

Skov wrinkled his nose, “Ew. Did you see her face?” 

It hadn’t been the worst way to spend an evening, but the times that Kavinsky had felt that peace or even a little bit of relief was few and far in between. The wind whipped by again against his skin making him shiver. The light was fading fast outside and he remembered from the movie that things got worse as the night progressed. 

Kavinsky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It felt greasier than usual, hadn’t he just washed it? He stood there running his fingers through his hair as he forced himself to go ahead and continue his slow walk towards the apartment buildings. 

_This isn’t my normal dreamscape_. 

Though the thought came to him almost too late, he paused and let out a careful breath. “A nightmare? Really?” 

The wind blew by him almost acting like an answer from the dream itself. 

_Hurry._

The wind seemed to push him along, but even with that feeling and the push from the dream itself, Kavinsky took his time. No one, not even a fucking _dream_ would push him to go faster. 

“If this is a nightmare, I’m going to make you pay.” He spoke more to himself, but doubted that the dream hadn’t heard him. Not if the gust of wind at his back was any indication of its displeasure. 

After all, he wasn’t welcome. 

Kavinsky noticed a pipe sticking up from the ground by itself. If he remembered the movie correctly, it would be better to grab something now rather than delay and do it later. Once it got dark was when the real party would begin. 

“Anytime now.” Kavinsky called out. 

His voice echoed off the buildings as he looked up at the faded and peeling picture of Stalin as he got closer and closer. It was a larger than life recreation of the old man, that was for sure. He tapped the pipe absently against the side of his leg as he walked, “Come out, come out!” 

No answer. 

The silence was wearing on his nerves and annoying him. So he continued his trek between the buildings and past them towards a building nearby that had stairs leading down towards a darkened doorway. There was no power anywhere, so K wasn’t surprised at the darkness that greeted him as he opened up the glass door. 

He didn’t have a flashlight, but if he just walked in a ways he would find- 

_Bingo._

The sun was setting outside as he wandered past the opening and down the hallway. The room opened up into a large circular room. There was nothing but a few pieces of overturned furniture and in the very middle of the room water dripped down from the ceiling into a round pool. Natural light barely illuminated the large room, especially with the sun rapidly descending outside turning the day into night. 

“Can I get radiation from here?” He asked himself as he tapped his pipe against the wall as he rounded the room, once, twice, and a third time. 

Time slipped by him as quickly as the water dripping down around Kavinsky did. 

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to survive in a place like this. Let’s get the party started already!” There was a rumble around him as the sunlight in the area slowly dimmed darker and darker until it was completely out. 

Even though it should have been pitch black, Kavinsky could still just make out the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

There hadn’t been anything there with him when he had come in, but there was something there now. He tapped the end of the pipe against the ground and a growl answered the noise. 

It was just a dream. 

For anyone else that would have been comforting. For Kavinsky it made absolutely no difference because his dreams were real. 

Several snarls sounded out as Kavinsky backed himself against the nearest part of the wall behind him and he heard the scrabbling of dog claws on the ground. He grinned, “Let the fun begin!” 

\----

Kavinsky woke up from the dream with a choked gasp. 

Each breath he tried to pull into his lungs was a fight as his body convulsed and tried to fight against the paralysis that came with waking up. His whole body throbbed and his left calf ached. He focused for a few moments on just trying to breathe, but the persistent throb of pain didn’t help as he shifted and looked down. 

In one hand he had a clump of dog fur clutched between his fingers, in the other was a bloody pipe. 

He forced his breathing to slow down as he breathed in and out between his clenched teeth. 

It took a few moments for the dream (nightmare) to come back to him in pieces. 

_Shit. Fuckers took a chunk out of me._

That was okay though, he had taken a chunk right back. 

Even if it didn’t bother him so much, he looked at the pipe again and remembered the weight of it as it caught one of the wild dogs on the top of the head. He thought there would have been more resistance, but the pipe had hit its mark and with the strength he had used the skull and caved in with a satisfying crunch. 

Kavinsky made himself pry his fingers off the pipe one by one, and after a while they finally obeyed. The pipe fell out of his hand with a hollow clonk into the backseat of his car. He waved his other hand outside the window to get rid of all the matted dog hair. 

He felt like death warmed over with his body throbbing and the back of his leg feeling as if someone had stuck several sharp needles in it. 

_I’ll have to take care of that later._

Forcing himself up, Kavinsky pulled his pants leg up.

Kavinsky took a steadying breath, and looked down at what he could see on the back of his leg. There were several nasty gashes, but no actual pieces ripped out of his skin. Some of them would heal fine, and there was maybe one he’d have to have P stitch up for him. 

Unlucky. 

That’s all that had fucking been. He had gotten terribly unlucky. 

He would have been able to ignore it for much longer had it just been a couple of punctures. Kavinsky could feel his mood going back into the pits. 

“Fuck.” He grabbed a discarded shirt from the floor board, a bottle of vodka, and leaned back against the seat as he uncapped the vodka and drenched part of the shirt. He leaned over and tied the shirt around his leg. 

The burn was anything but pleasant. 

“Shit.” Kavinsky punched the back of the driver seat, gritting his teeth. 

He would take care of this. 

It would be fine. 

Just like always. 

Crawling to the front seat carefully, Kavinsky picked up his phone and opened his text messages. 

There weren’t many. 

However there was one from Jiang: _Substance party confirmed for Friday night._

Of course, leave it to Jiang to keep substance parties relegated to the weekend so that no one would have to worry about missing class the next day. Something about that always rubbed Kavinsky the wrong way. 

There would always be posers and once everyone left that fucking school they would most likely leave all the partying and good times behind. 

Kavinsky tossed his phone onto the seat, “Pussy.” 

He was too sober for these thoughts and this injury. Leaning over the console, he reached down and opened the compartment in front of the passenger seat and pulled out several pieces of paper, receipts, and money. 

At the very back was the small baggy he was looking for. He pulled it out and held it up and shook it. “Huh, better get some more later. I sure don’t want to have nothing.” 

Kavinsky tapped out the remaining powder on the console and quietly fixed it into a line. He leaned down and sniffed what little he had left, sat back, and waited for the drug to take effect. 

His eyes watch the way the shadows move across the ground, and his body focuses on the rushing of the wind and the way it gently rocked the car with each push. He flexed his fingers and continued to sit there as the world started to turn pleasant slow circles and the tension bled out of his body as he slumped back. 

He enjoyed losing himself in a haze, but it never lasted quite long enough. In fact, he would have stayed in his haze longer had he not heard the faint noise of his phone buzzing in the seat next to his. 

With a sigh, Kavinsky picked up his phone. 

“What?” 

“Hey K. Dumas has been taken care of, you should have your money tomorrow.” Prokopenko’s voice is calm on the other end. It’s surprising that the other could handle something like threatening another student for Kavinsky and act as if it was like talking about the weather. 

That’s why K liked P. He never made theatrics about anything he was involved in. 

He got shit done. 

“Take half, get me some more party favors for our personal stash. I just finished what I had left.” 

There was a pause on the other end, “Okay, I’ll bring the rest of what we have to you tonight.” 

“I’ll meet you at my place.” 

Kavinsky hung up the phone, put the key in the ignition and started the car. He was ready to get home, take a shower, and deal with the fall out from the nightmare.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark by the time Kavinsky made it home. 

Most of the house was dark which meant his mother was either out with someone or she was already holed up in her room for the night. Prokopenko had his own way to get in, so Kavinsky wandered up the stairs, and into his room. 

He turned on the light and grabbed a towel hanging on the post of his bed. 

_For now I’ll take care of this._

The warm water was welcome as it washed the sweat and grime away. He stood underneath the spray for what felt like a long time. It probably had been, but when he reached down to turn the taps off the water was still lukewarm. 

Stepping out into the bathroom, Kavinsky looked around the bathroom as he toweled off. 

It was just as big as his bedroom, if not bigger. 

The room never really got humid from the shower, so his mirror never fully fogged up. He wrapped the damp towel around his waist and tucked it in and leaned onto the marble counter in front of the mirror. 

His leg still hurt, but he ignored it for now as he studied his complexion. 

His body was skinny. Too skinny. He had lost more weight, his eyes were bloodshot and his nose was slightly red, whether from the long term use of drugs or not he didn’t know or care to know.

Kavinsky tightened the towel around his waist and he tipped his chin up and glared at himself in the mirror. “What are you looking at?” 

Snorting at his own joke, Kavinsky turned and headed out back to his room. 

When Kavinsky opened his door, Prokopenko was already seated half on the window ledge a cigarette in hand as he waited for him. Kavinsky rolled his eyes, “Let yourself in why don’t you?” 

Prokopenko lifted the cigarette to his lips, took a drag, and released it slowly. “Of course, you gave me the garage code.” 

“Was my mom’s car in the garage?” Kavinsky turned and moved to his closet grabbing a wife beater and pulling it on. He drops his towel and grabs a pair of shorts tugging them on. 

“No. She’s out.”

“Figures.” 

Kavinsky waved his hand dismissively, “Did you bring my party favors?” 

Prokopenko jerked his head towards the desk. 

Kavinsky picked up the baggy and shook it as he frowned and showed it to P., “This is it?” 

“It should last you for a while.” 

“A _while_? The fuck P?” Kavinsky scoffed, shaking the bag in his face. 

Prokopenko took another drag from his cigarette and turned his eyes outside towards the house across from theirs, “You’ve been hitting that stuff so hard lately, something wrong?” 

“What is this feelings crap you’re using on me? Fuck off P.” Kavinsky leaned against his desk, dropping the baggy back onto it. Prokopenko finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the ceil, and tossed the bud outside. 

He turned fully to face Kavinsky, leaning forward as he balanced, “We’re friends aren’t we?” 

Friends. 

Ha. 

That was a novel word that Kavinsky didn’t use lightly. “Business partners more like.” 

“We aren’t our fathers, we can be friends.” 

_We can be normal._

The unspoken words flash in the back of Kavinsky’s mind as he frowns and grips at the edge of the desk. What did being normal even mean for someone like him? Could he ever be even close to normal? 

He could dream up the world and all the people in it several times over. 

Kavinsky could create angels. 

He could create demons. 

He was a _God_. 

“Nah, you’re too fuckin’ weird to be friends with.” Kavinsky decided. 

Prokopenko didn’t look bothered, he shrugged and stood up, “Sure K.” 

Kavinsky sighed and watched Prokopenko, he shook his head and rolled his eyes. This was the first time Prokopenko had the balls to say something to him, but all the same it wouldn’t change his mind. 

He was the furthest thing from normal and he liked that even if it meant that he lived more when he was asleep than he did when he was awake. 

“Come on. Let’s go do a line and watch some porn.” 

This was normal. 

This was fine. Anything else would be too much. 

Ignoring Prokopenko, Kavinsky grabbed the baggy and the card on his desk as he turned and left his room. Thankfully his room and the theater were close to each other. His mother typically stayed down stairs and everything he used was on the second floor, which made it convenient for her to avoid him. 

He opened the door and flicked on the lights. 

Kavinsky didn’t look back, after all, he knew that Prokopenko would follow him regardless. 

_What else was he going to do? Sit in his room and pout?_

Unless P. was only staying with him stubbornly out of some misguided pity. Even if the other didn’t think so, Kavinsky knew that was closer to the truth. 

\----

It’s late morning when Kavinsky wakes up. 

Or, at least it _feels_ like late morning with the fuzziness in his brain and his sluggish movements. They must have done the whole bag that P. had brought him last night because it was almost comical how out of touch his movements felt with his vision as he turned his head, and his sight processed everything after in a halting claymation sort of movement. 

They had turned on a porn video before the fun had really begun and the same video was playing on loop in the background.  
The sound of enthusiastic slurping bounced and echoed around the theater accompanied by some exaggerated moans as a blonde with triple d fake tits bounced on the lap of a guido looking fuck with chiseled abs. His grunting was almost comical, but with the way his head swam it was less amusing than annoying. 

_What would it be like to be a woman?_

Kavinsky looks down at his sweat stained white shirt and touched the middle of it. 

His mother was petite and she had small breasts and no ass to speak of. She was a classical sort of pretty, and maybe when she was younger that was why his father had fallen in lust enough to bang her, impregnate her, and marry her. 

He didn’t play around either.

_At least not that I know of._

How much of that really was his dad or the idea of what he was like? 

There was a difference. 

_If it were me, I would have forced her to get a boob job. Definitely._

Of course, he had never been close enough to his dad to ask. He probably would have gotten punched if he did anyway. 

Also, that was if he was willing to give a woman a chance. 

They were all the same. 

Weak. 

Unnecessary. 

Too soft. 

_No. Don’t follow that chain of thought._

Kavinsky forced himself back into the present. What the fuck was that line of thinking supposed to accomplish? 

Not a fucking thing. 

He forced himself to sit up and his body sluggishly obeyed. He grabbed the seat in front of his own and dry heaved as he tried to keep himself in the seat and from falling over. It took more willpower than he really had right now, but after he steadied himself he finally turned to find Prokopenko. 

The other was sitting a few seats down from him, head tilted back eyes half lidded. 

“Hey-” Kavinsky’s voice cracked. 

_Shit I need some water._

“P.” 

No answer. 

“Yo. P. Wake the fuck up it’s-” He checked his watch. 

“2 P.M. Shit we missed school again. Your mom is going to strangle your ass.” While he didn’t care about his mother, Prokopenko's mother was a little more in the picture and interested in him. After all, after losing her husband how could she not be? 

Prokopenko was less of a fuck up at school too. 

“Fuck. Man. Wake up.” He kicked his leg out to try and startle the other boy awake. 

No answer. 

His nose started to itch, and Kavinsky’s reached up and rubbed for a second before feeling something wet on his fingers. He pulled back and looked down. Bright red blood stained his fingertips and he sniffed, holding out his hand to watch the blood drip down into the center of his palm for a few moments. 

_Side effects._

“P.” 

No response. 

Kavinsky forced himself up and stumbled toward Prokopenko, flopping his body down in the chair next to him. He shook his shoulder, “Hey.” 

Immediately, he jerked his hand back. 

Prokopenko’s body was cold and stiff. It hardly moved at all when Kavinsky shook him. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, but there was no life in them. There was a thin trail of blood from his nose that had trailed down his lips, down to his chin, and further still down his neck. It had been dry for some time now and looked like it would flake off at the slightest touch. 

“Oh.” Kavinsky, let out a shuddering breath. 

Prokopenko was dead. 

Even though he was staring at the body of the person he had let get the closest to him, he couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled past his lips. His fingers reached out and gripped into the fabric of the other’s shirt to ground himself. 

Was this real? 

Was it a trip gone bad? 

He shook him again, and pressed his fingers to his neck. 

No pulse. 

He swallowed thickly and shook his head in wonder, “Fuck.” 

It was almost comical, the person that stuck the closest had died and it was because he had gotten close enough and tried to keep up with someone as self destructive as Joseph Kavinsky. That wasn’t the funniest part of the whole scene though, his friend had _died_ in a theater of an overdose and the only thing that Kavinsky’s brain registered was the wet slapping and moaning bouncing around the theater room. 

“You were supposed to be able to keep up.” He patted Prokopenko’s cheek. 

He sat in the chair next to his dead friend for several minutes as he just breathed and tried to sober himself up. After a long while, he forced himself to his feet, and grabbed Prokopenko’s arm, pulling it over his shoulder. 

Prokopenko’s body was stiff, but it was lighter than he had expected. So it was easier and harder on him to maneuver his friend’s corpse out of the row of chairs and to the door. Getting him down the hall and the stairs was the most challenging part. 

Thankfully, the old maid wasn’t there. He didn’t want to be responsible for killing her and listening to his mother complain. 

“You’ve finally done it haven’t you?”   
_Speaking of my mother…_

Kavinsky stopped next to the couch, his hand flexed on Prokopenko’s arm to hold the dead weight steady so he didn’t fall over. His mother sat on the middle of the couch in a black night gown that fell down her almost skeletal thin shoulders. She looked up at him with a needle pushed into the crook of her arm. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but the weight of Prokopenko is more annoying and present at the moment, so he chose silence and not bother. 

Readjusting Prokopenko to keep him slipping out of his grip, Kavinsky turned and started towards the garage once more. 

His mother hummed and giggled behind him, “You are such a fuck up, Joseph.” 

Kavinsky opens the door to the garage, but it takes him several tries to make sure Prokopenko’s body doesn’t topple over on him or fall to the ground. He propped him up until he was able to fish out the keys to his car and pop the trunk. He picked up Prokopenko and dumped him into the truck. 

He surveyed the other boy’s body, “You weren’t supposed to be a liability.” 

Even though he waited for Prokopenko to respond somewhere in the back of his brain, Kavinsky watched him for two more seconds before he shut the trunk. “Doesn’t matter.”

_I’ll dream up a new you anyway._


	5. Chapter 5

Kavinsky doesn’t remember getting in his car and driving to the fairgrounds. 

When he becomes present again in his own mind, he is already sitting in the grounds in his car. It’s the middle of the day and he had work to do. 

Finding a place for Prokopenko’s body is easy. 

There are so many cars that K ends up finding one that actually starts without a key and he moves it. Digging and disposing of Prokopenko’s body was relatively easy on him after that. He stood over his body, his eyes on him as he tapped the shovel on the ground. 

“You get a pass. Just one though. I won’t do this for you again.” 

If that was a lie, Kavinsky wouldn’t know it. Not with the way he felt about it, but who knew? 

_Maybe if he dies again I might feel like I have to._

Isn’t that what had happened before. 

Why did he have to deal with this at all? 

Kavinsky, pushed the dirt over Prokopenko’s body until it was no longer visible, then after patting down the soil, he drove the car over the body. It would be easy to hide it there until he had a more fool proof plan of how to keep things from sneaking in to deal with the body. 

He plopped himself back into his car and pressed his forehead against the top of the steering wheel and turned his thoughts inward again. 

How did he actually _feel_ about this? 

He didn’t. 

“Hey P. You know, it really says something that I can fuck you up so bad and still manage to miss school.” 

There wasn’t an answer for him. 

Prokopenko wouldn’t just jump out of the ground and crawl out from under the car. No, that meant that ball was in his court to make things happen. 

He didn’t realize he had picked up his cellphone until he had already unlocked the screen and pulled up a text message and was halfway through typing it up: _P. Is doing something for me that took him out of town. Get the party ready on your own._   
Chyna: _Okay. I’ll send you specs later._. 

That was the end of it. K clicked the power button on the side of the phone. He didn’t have to worry that Jiang wouldn’t do what he asked. The other had obedience bred into his very DNA by his parents, so Kavinsky never bothered with checking in on the other. As long as he didn’t interfere with Jiang’s own dealings or his grades, Kavinsky was sure the other would just do as he was told. 

That was the beauty of understanding the people he had placed around him. They all had their breaking point, and he had found how much he could lean on each before they broke. 

He snapped his fingers and shoved himself up off the wheel. 

Skov and Swann were easy to handle. They didn’t realize he was so observant. After all, there had been one too many times they had woken up together on top of each other for it to be an accident. Also, Skov would always be easier to please than Swann, after all he had an itch for violence and something to prove. 

Even if they complained it would never be directly at him. 

None of them were willing to go as far as he was to prove a point. 

He knew it, and they all knew it. 

None of them knew much about the dreaming, and what they did know they kept to themselves. Only Prokopenko had been the one to really try and ask anything about it, and he had learned that once was enough when Kavinsky had pulled out a miniature horror from one of his dreams. 

He remembered how the black seething mass had hissed and snapped in the middle of his palm before he had wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed until the creature stopped struggling and fell still. 

Prokopenko had excused himself that day, and it had been two more before he had been back. 

When he returned there had been an emotion that Kavinsky couldn’t quite place on him, but he had stuck by his side like glue ever since. 

_Well. Until now._

Kavinsky sighed and looked out at all the cars littering the fairgrounds. There were getting to be too many of those again, and while a few cars were easy to get away with, a dozen cars would draw suspicion. 

Besides, it would give him something to do to wake himself. 

\-----

It’s early evening when he finished getting rid of the cars. 

He took a breath and settled against the side of his own car as he stared out at the grounds where several steaming piles of metal still sat. In a couple of hours there would be no trace of them, and that was a beautiful thing. 

_Getting rid of objects is easy. Humans are a little harder._

Dreaming up and pulling a person out of his dream was on another level. 

A weariness settled into Kavinsky’s body at the thought of dreaming up Prokopenko. His fingers tapped along the dotted line around his neck. 

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten..._

Those were the segments that covered the front of his neck. There were probably a few on the back of it now too. Each time he dreamed someone up, another one appeared. 

_Had he dreamt up that many? Really?_

Each time he didn’t it took another piece of him. It also took longer and long each time. What he had been able to pull out the first time was easier, but it had also been imperfect. Forgery, especially of a person, took a long time to get right. 

He pressed both his hands around his neck and the dotted line and squeezed until pain made him release his grip. 

Climbing back into his car Kavinsky reached over to grab the new bottle of whiskey he put in the floorboard before he had left the house with Prokopenko. He unscrewed the cap, leaned back and took a generous chug of the liquid enjoying the warmth spreading into his body. 

_Prokopenko._

_Prokopenko._

_**Prokopenko**_. 

Fuck. 

“Today is already shaping up to be a bad day.” Kavinsky muttered to himself as he sloshed the liquor around in the bottle. 

Making a copy of him would be different. 

Prokopenko was a new forgery to make, and he hadn’t particularly ever kept an eye on him, which made it a little harder to do. He hadn’t had to make notes of quirks or anything extraordinary about him because the other had never been brave enough or strong enough to try and push back at him. 

Kavinsky sighed and tried to recall the way P. really was. 

His weaknesses. 

His quirks. 

His shortcomings. 

His body and shape. 

Those were all things that were easy to think about. It was the strength and his good qualities that were harder to come by. Kavinsky took another drink, and sighed as he stared at the ceiling in his car. 

What good qualities _did_ Prokopenko have? 

Loyalty. A tight mouth. 

Kavinsky, press rubbed his pointer finger along his lower lip absently feeling the dry cracked skin of his own lip. No, Prokopenko’s lips were smaller than his, plumper and pink except where the scar stood out pale in contrast to the rest of it. 

That scar. 

He remembered when Prokopenko got the scar and winced. 

_You know his good qualities too. It just hurts you to see them because it shows you how messed up you really are._

“Shut the fuck up.” Kavinsky muttered, tossing the half finished bottle of whiskey out of the car. 

No. 

He wouldn’t think about that. 

_Couldn’t_. 

After all, if he did it might mean examining the parts he hated most about himself. Kavinsky was a lot of things, but one of the biggest things he was, even to himself, was a coward. 

Just thinking about it made his stomach roll. 

Sick. 

Focus. 

In that moment Kavisnky forced himself to concentrate back on the dead boy. He pushed everything and concentrated on thinking things through. He was like an artist or a forger in the moment, studying in order to recreate the picture in perfect detail. The details _did_ matter, but it was the broad strokes most people saw. 

He turned and popped open the console to grab a pill from the small baggy he had there. 

But there were none. 

Kavinsky grimced, “Fuck. Get your shit together.” 

He pushed papers and receipts out of the way and didn’t find any either. He slammed his hand on the horn and hit his head back against the seat with a snarl, “Fucking terrific. Now I have to fucking go home and get more from my stash.” 

How could he have been so fucking stupid? 

Putting his car in drive, Kavinsky started towards home. 

\----

It was supposed to be a quick trip in to get the pills and then he could go back to the fairgrounds and settle himself in for the night. 

But it seemed that whoever was in charge of his life really wanted to fuck Kavinsky. 

As he pulled into the drive, there was a car already there. The black mustang with a red racing stripe sent a shock down his back, stamping out any traces of buzz still pinging around in his system. That car was hardly ever present, and when it was it meant nothing good.   
Kavinsky shoved his hands through his hair, grimacing. “Fuck. Fuck. _**Fuck**_.” 

He tossed open the driver door and took only as much time as he needed to remove the keys from the ignition. The front door was open and he could already hear his mother's screech from where he stood in the driveway. 

“Shit. Already?” Kavinsky sighed and wandered up the drive and into the house. 

How long had this been going on already? 

If he could hear her, who else might have heard? 

He slammed the door shut behind him as he entered the foyer and stalked inside. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch?!” Kavinsky heard his father snarl. 

His mother stood halfway up the stairs holding another very expensive vase in her hands. She had it poised over her head ready to toss it at his father who stood on the bottom step away from her. 

“STAY AWAY YOU AREN’T REAL!” His mother screeched again as she threatened to throw the vase, and his dad took another step back down the stairs. 

“What the hell?!” 

His father looked unharmed for the most part standing there in a black suit, his white shirt tucked into his pants and his tie immaculate. Only his bangs were askew and around him was an explosion of white baby’s breath and flowers, and a single stemmed red rose. 

“The fuck?!” He yelps as Kavinsky watched his mom chuck the vase right at his head. 

His dad ducked, the vase shattering near Kavinsky’s feet. 

Kavinsky took two steps backward as he held up two hands in surrender as he watched the scene play out before his eyes. It wasn’t like this was anything new even before they moved here for Kavinsky to go to school, leaving his father behind to do his own work undisturbed. 

His father marched up the steps as his mother turned to scramble up them. There wasn’t really any place she could go other than the bathroom. But, unsurprisingly his father got to her first. He grabbed her by the hips and slammed her against the wall. Her head bounced off the wall and she looked at her husband half dazed, fear in the light of her eyes as she tried to shove against his broad chest. 

He stumbled back and she ran down the stairs and past Kavinsky. 

He continued to watch the scene, as his father barrelled down the steps, grabbed her and raised his hand above his head. “I’ll teach you not to bare your fangs at your master!” 

His father’s hand connected against the side of her face first, then the top of her head and down on her right shoulder. Hard. 

She cried out and brought both of her arms up to shield herself from the blows. “NO!” 

With another strike to the side of her head, she went down. 

Kavsinky rolled his eyes as his dad kicked at her side and spat on her, “Can’t even take a beating anymore, huh? Look at you. You’re pathetic.” 

He reached down wrapping his fingers through her hair, “If you can’t take a beating, don’t act up.” He patted her cheek with less force, but he wanted her to pay attention and Kavinsky stepped around them as he moved towards the fireplace. 

Near the side there was an iron fireplace poker propped up beside it. 

Kavinsky grabbed the poker as he turned back and slung it over his shoulder surveying the scene again. He stepped closer as his father dropped his mother onto the couch and turned to face him, “Ah, there’s my biggest disappointment.” 

A grin lit up Kavinsky’s face. 

_God I hate this fucking loser._

“Like I wasn’t here the whole time you gross fuck.” Kavinsky greeted his dad, cocking his hip to the side as he stood just out of hands reach. 

“What did you say, you little shit stain?” His father took a step towards him. 

“Obviously I’ve been a little too nice. This trip is ov-” 

Kavinsky didn’t let him finish. He pulled back and thrust the fireplace poker square into his father’s throat. His father’s eyes went wide and his face pale as he choked and gurgled. His hand grappled and wrapped around the fireplace poker. 

His mother let out a terrified shriek as Kavinsky stepped forward and carried both him and his father with his momentum. His father’s feet went out from underneath him, and Kavinsky used both hands to drive the poker through his throat.

The beating of his heart was the only thing K heard for a good fifteen seconds. 

When his hearing finally came back, he let go of the poker and stepped back holding both hands up as his mother sobbed and cried out burying her face in her hands, “OH MY GOD.” 

“Shut up.” Kavinsky snapped faintly as he watched his father’s legs kick out and he struggled to breathe. 

_The sound of someone choking on their own blood was louder than I thought._

His mother screamed as his dad’s body shuddered and went still. She tried to scramble off the couch, and she landed in the slowly advancing pool of blood as she trailed it on the floor after her escape, her hands in her hair as she sat there shuddering, eyes wide like a cornered animal. 

“SHUT UP.” He snapped walking to stand near his mother. 

She looked up at him trembling on the ground, her hands half covered in slowly drying blood. He knelt down in front of her, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out and gripped her chin. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” 

He pointed a finger in her face, “This is all on you. I wouldn’t have done it if you could just keep your cool.” 

She didn’t move, her chest rose and fell like a scared little bird. 

_Fuck. Why do I still try and protect you?_

He was more angry at himself than anything. 

He applied more pressure and his mother whimpered, “Listen up. This is the last time I do this. If you act up, if you cry, scream or anything? I’ll make sure you’re the next person I dream up.” 

Kavinsky shoved her face away from his as he stood up and headed upstairs, “Clean this shit up. I’ll be back down for the body later.” 

With that he left his mother, his father, and his frustration down on the first floor. 

He had more important matters to attend to than what he had just seen and done.


	6. Chapter 6

Kavinsky rummaged around up in his drawer for a few seconds looking for his bag of pills. He took one out and rolled it around in his palm, almost putting it in his mouth. 

_No._

He thinks of his mother down stairs cleaning up the mess of her husband and shook his head slowly. 

There was no telling what she might do to him if he was vulnerable. 

He’d have to go somewhere else. 

Also, with a dead body in the house and no guarantee that anyone hadn’t called the cops, moving his dad’s body took priority. Prokopenko would have to wait a few more hours before he made a reappearance anywhere. 

Kavinsky sighed and pressed his hands against his face as he took a moment to calm his body down. His hands continued to shake as he shook his head. 

_It never got any easier to do that._

He stood up, grabbed the baggy shoving it into the pocket of his shorts. 

Taking one more breath, Kavinsky left his room and ventured back down the stairs. His mother may have been useless in some respects, but one thing that always impressed him was how broken she seemed to be but even despite that she moved her body and did what was asked of her. 

Her face, neck and shoulder had tell tale signs of bruising, and she would have to deal with the ramifications of that herself. 

She had already changed into a dark t-shirt and shorts, pulled her long black hair up, and was on her hands and knees with a bucket of bleach. 

They probably could have called one of his father’s contacts to do it, but they didn’t need rumors to spread. No, he would deal with all of this shit alone because it was the easiest way to keep the body count down. 

Also, it was just a temporary death for now. 

“I’m gonna pull my car into the garage. Be ready to move.” He told his mother. 

She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his words, but she would help him anyway. 

It took about two seconds to pull into the garage. 

Three minutes to grab a tarp and throw it into his trunk, making sure to line it carefully on the bottom so blood doesn’t spill and ruin the upholstery. 

Five minutes to drag his father's rapidly cooling body to the trunk and dump him in with the fireplace poker. 

Just like that he’s on a trip out of the garage and down the street. He took the main road and followed it out of town. He just drives, no music, no pomp and circumstance. 

Nothing. 

He needed the silence. 

It always felt like this when he killed his dad. It didn’t matter how many times he did it, something with it stuck in his chest. 

_Even for a piece of shit like him._

He watched the clock on the dash, made sure to watch out for any cop cars and keep an eye on the radar he had installed. Nothing. 

He let the miles between his car and Henrietta soothe his nerves as his car zipped down the road, going over hills and driving in valleys as he felt his heart pump steadily in his chest. He did this for over an hour and a half before he spotted a small smattering of trees off the road and pulled onto the shoulder. 

Kavinsly took out a cigarette and leaned out his window to light it, as he watched the traffic on the road go by. 

Not bad. Only one or two cars had passed him. Neither had slowed down. 

Perfect. 

Kavinsky finished his cigarette and flicked it out into the road. He backed his car up and drove under the trees, which were a good twenty five to thirty feet away from where he had parked. He opened the trunk, took out the shovel and started to dig. 

After a half an hour of digging he was satisfied with the width and depth of the whole. Kavinsky popped the trunk again, and grabbed the tarp tugging his father up and out of the trunk. He drug him over to the hole and rolled him in, tucking the tarp around his body like a blanket.  
It was getting to be too familiar for him. 

He took the time to make sure the hole was covered up properly before he tossed packed away the shove and climbed back in the car for his long trek home. Finally, he turned on the music and let it blare out the thoughts in his hair and distract him as he took far less time to get back to the town. 

Instead of going home for the night, Kavinsky opted to visit the fairground. 

The car Prokopenko was buried on was next to the one he was in as he grabbed one of the pills, swallowed it, and chased it back with some vodka. 

He leaned back and sighed. 

Prokopenko had waited long enough. 

_Time to get to work._

\-----

The sound of the ocean assaulted Kavinsky’s senses as he opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes adjusted to the brightness, and he felt the heat on his skin as he pushed himself up. His body was warm from lying under the sun for a long time, and his feet twinged with pain at the heat in the sand beneath his feet. 

He shuffled down the beach and let the waves lap at his feet and cool them off. 

“Shit. Couldn’t have given me shoes?” 

The only sound was the seagulls calling to each other on the breeze. 

Kavinsky looked around and noticed the thick foliage a little ways from the beach. It would be better to get a move on before his feet were completely burned on the sand. 

_I don’t know what’s there, but it doesn’t matter._

Nothing mattered except the goal. 

Of course, the dream wouldn’t make it easy for him to drag someone out with him, but he would do his best to bring back an exact copy of Prokopenko. 

He tried to picture the other in his mind as he thought about him. 

Now was no time to sit there and play around. Just because the weather and everything pointed to things being okay for the time being, that didn’t mean when the dream understood what he wanted explicitly that he wouldn’t find some resistance. 

The dream power depleted way too much for him to work on bringing someone out for at least a week, so if he messed up on Prokopenko then things could unravel faster than he could fix them. 

He didn’t have the room to fail, so he just wouldn’t. 

The foliage was denser than he wanted to mess with without a weapon to help clear the way, but he pushed through the thick plants. The warm sand turned into damp dirt as he moved and trekked further and further inside. 

It didn’t make sense to go from a beach to a jungle, but there he was. 

If he had been in a real jungle, he would have heard something from the scene around him, but there was nothing. 

No bugs, no wildlife, nothing. 

Only dead silence.

There was a rumble, soft at first, but then more persistent as he continued to make his way inside. Why was he even there? He wasn’t sure. He had stopped trying to understand why his dreams put him in certain settings. 

It was humid, and as he travelled it felt like the air got more and more thick around him. 

Then, it was as if he stepped in from the jungle into a forest. 

Pine needles pricked at his feet as the light faded into dusk. He travelled for a few more minutes, but Kavinsky wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been hours either. Time played differently when he was in a dream and he didn’t trust his sense of time at all. 

_Keep moving forward._

Suddenly in the distance there was a cabin. 

The roof was half caved in and the window that he could see was dark and broken out. Some of the glass still clung to the pane as he moved towards the building glittering in the fading light. 

_There._

_There._

_**There.**_

The word echoed in the back of his brain, making his hair stand on the nape of his neck and his spine tingle. It felt weird, like the forest around him could fall over at the smallest push from his mind. 

Normally he would have tempted fate and messed with the dreamscape, but he was there to grab Prokopenko and leave. 

_Inside._

Kavinsky approached where the door should have been and stepped past the threshold. Glass cracked underneath his feet, and a pain shot up his leg as a piece pierced the bottom of his foot. “Fuck.” 

He carefully stepped to the side, picked up his foot and plucked the jagged piece out of his foot. 

_I really need shoes._

Maybe this was his punishment for everything. 

It made sense that he would have to give something for coming in again and again. 

Slowly, he picked his way as carefully as he could around the glass. 

It started snowing outside, the wind going cold around him as he shivered for a second and he searched around. 

There was a staircase leading to the second floor.

There shouldn’t have been a second floor from how the cabin looked from the outside. But again, dreams were the only explanation that he had for it. But, as he ascended the stairs the wind came through the slightly dilapidated roof. 

There was a room with a faint glow on his left, so Kavinsky went left. 

Inside the room there were fish swimming in the air towards the top of the ceiling. 

On the bed was a body bag. 

The body bag was moving. 

_This is some fucking horror bullshit right here._

Kavinsky watched the body bag for a second and held his breath as he waited for the thrashing to stop. It took a few seconds, but eventually the bag did stop, even though whatever it was, or whoever it was, pawed at the plastic and the fwip fwip fwip of the movement sounded like someone rubbing against a windbreaker. 

He turned to look around the room, Kavinsky’s fingers flexed as he searched for something, anything. 

On the side table there was a butcher knife. 

_That’ll do._

He stepped closer and grabbed the knife before it could disappear or walk away. The thing in the bag thrashed around, and a muffled whimper echoed around the quiet room startling the fish as they poured out the windows and the open door to get away from the unrest and thrashing. 

Kavinsky stepped forward, held his breath, and grabbed the zipper at the top of the bag. 

It felt as if time slowed down along with the sound as he almost felt outside his body as he watched his hand tug the zipper. 

Down, down, down. 

He let out a breath as the plastic parted to show off Prokopenko’s panicked and confused eyes. His mouth was taped shut and he let out a high pitched MMPFFF. 

Kavinsky lowered the knife and let out a huff of breath, “Fuck. Good thing I found you.” 

It could have been worse. 

Then he heard the creak of the boards down stairs and the sound of glass crunching under the sole of a thick pair of boots. 

_Fuck._

He wasn’t the only one that heard it. Prokopenko went silent, and the only sound in the room was his panicked breathing. Kavinsky turned and unzipped the bag and surveyed the damage. The other was fully intact, perfect. 

He was tied up with tape. 

The knife would help. 

He set to work as he heard someone step on the first step of the stairs, pause, and continue up. 

“Shit.” Prokopenko breathed softly as he sat up and wiggled the rest of the way out of the bag. Kavinsky went to the door and quietly shut it, disturbing a few fish still in the room. 

“Come here.” Kavinsky grabbed Prokopenko by the scruff of the neck and hauled him close. 

Prokopenko went to open his mouth and Kavinsky shoved his hand holding his knife in his face. There was a closet and that might be the only place they could hide. 

Whatever it was, he could _feel_ it wasn’t friendly. 

Anyone who normally showed up in his dreams usually wanted to kill him. This time most likely wouldn’t be the exception to the rule, especially since things seemed to be harder each time he drug someone out. 

“Why are you here? Why am _I_ here?” Prokopenko whispered against his fingers. 

Kavinsky forced him into the closet as the boots stopped in front of the door. 

_Wake up._

Kavinsky pressed his hand over Prokopenko’s mouth, hard as he crushed the other back behind him and slid as far into the closet as he could. He shut his eyes and his pulse thumped against his neck as his heart frantically hammered in his chest. 

He held the knife up. 

“K. Really, I thought I was…” Prokopenko whispered breathlessly behind him. 

“Shut. Up.” Kavinsky hissed as he gripped the hilt to the knife so hard his knuckles turned white. 

The door slowly creaked open. 

_Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!_

He was so close. 

If he could just wake up now he could pull Prokopenko out and at least he would be done with one of the two people he needed to work to bring back. He needed to do it this time. 

Heavy boot steps sounded out, taking the strength out of Kavinsky’s legs. 

Prokopenko pressed his hands over his own mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut. Kavinsky pressed back against him more firmly as the door slowly started to slide open. A large hand wrapped around the door and Kavinsky reacted, lashing out stabbing at it. 

There was a loud gasp and growl as the hand disappeared and the sliding door rocked on it’s hinges. 

_Shit! Wake up now!_

Kavinsky shut his eyes and turned around wrapping his arms around Prokopenko. A sharp pain pierced his back, but that was all he needed. 

The pain was just what he needed. 

His body spasmed, and he jerked up and settled back into the seat he had fallen asleep in. 

He couldn’t turn his head, he couldn’t really do much more than sit there and breathe. His body trembled and he felt a warmth on his lower right side. Whatever it was that had stuck him had definitely left a mark. 

“K?” 

Prokopenko’s voice trembled as he whispered beside him. 

The tension drained out of him as he shuddered and shut his eyes letting out a sigh. Prokopenko leaned over the console, his hand reaching down to grab his arm that was stiff as he murmured, “K. You need to let the knife go. You’re hurting yourself.” 

This was fine. 

This was good even. 

It would still be a few moments before he’d be able to move properly again, but he had done at least what he had set out to do. 

Prokopenko was alive. He was here. 

\----  
After he had come back into himself, Kavinsky had driven Prokopenko to his house and dropped him off. He ignored the look on his face, the pure disbelief and gratitude that painted his features and made Kavinsky sick to his stomach. 

He had stopped to buy a medical kit and drove around for about thirty minutes, until his vision started to swim. 

Pulling into the nearest parking lot he could find on a block with large buildings, Kavinsky cranked up his music in his car and peeled off his shirt. His hands shook as he opened up the kit and grabbed the bandages and gauze.

Twisting his side so he could see his side was a bitch and a half, but the slight slice in his skin oozed blood as he peeled the back of the bandage and set it to the side. He took a wipe and opened it up and swiped it down the cut. 

It stung, but that was better than a possible infection. 

He put the bandage over it, then gauze over that, and wrapped some of the bandage around that. It would at least keep him together until someone could look at it and actually do first aid. 

His fingers were easier to treat. 

Apparently when they had come out of the dream, he had been holding the knife and his fingers had slipped on the blade and he had been cut deep on the tips of his fingers. 

He bandaged each one. 

Kavinsky’s head swam as he leaned back and listened to the base of the son booming through the speakers. 

On his wrist was another dash of a line.

His body felt so tired. 

_I don’t know how much more I can do._

Thankfully, his mother knew better than to report her husband missing and his contacts wouldn’t go looking for him unless they absolutely needed to. It would give him time to rest up and for the dreamscape to get back it’s juice. Then he would go inside and grab his father. 

_Or die trying._

Either way things would be over for a while. 

_How boring._

Was this how his life was going to be? 

If it was, maybe he should remove the bandage and let himself bleed out. Of course, even if he did that the chances that that the wound would actually kill him were very slim. 

Static started on his radio and then the radio cut out entirely. 

Kavinsky groaned and thumped his hand on the dashboard. His fingers stung and he pulled his hand back. “What the fuck?” 

The music faded in and out and Kavinsky shook his head. He really wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to pass out in a random parking lot. If he tried to go home now, he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly knowing his mother would probably try and kill him in his sleep. 

It would take a few days before he’d trust going home anyway. 

So it was back to Prokopenko’s house. 

The other didn’t even make him beg. 

_Probably grateful he’s not dead._

“Hey K, I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll be right back in.” Prokopenko called from his doorway as he headed out of the room towards the bathroom. 

Kavinsky grunted and stood up grabbing Prokopenko’s cigarettes from the shelf by his bed. Finding a lighter he tugged the desk chair with him as he settled down by the window as he leaned his shoulder against the mesh covering the window. 

Lighting the cigarette Kavinsky pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the window frame. 

_How much longer is this going to take? Life is such a fucking nightmare._

A movement at the corner of his eye caught K’s attention. 

He vaguely recalled that the person across the street went to Aglionby. 

Ronan Lynch. 

Hadn’t his dad been offed recently? 

At least from word on the street. Ronan himself kept company with Dick Gansey, and anyone who kept close company with him wasn’t someone that would be close to Kavinsky. 

However, another weird flutter of activity caught his sight. 

The other had been outside, and something was going on. He had been sitting underneath a tree, and Kavinsky wasn’t sure what the first movement was, but the next movement was more recognizable. Ronan Lynch’s body was moving on the ground convulsing almost. 

Then out of thin air a large crow looking animal appeared on top of the other boy. 

Kavinsky sucked in a breath, “No fucking way.” 

Had he pulled something out of his dream?

Pulling things out of thin air wasn’t a common thing, and the boy hadn’t moved yet not even when the large crow-like creature squawked and lashed out at him cutting into Ronan’s skin. 

Then the boy was up and running, the creature zipping to keep up with him as he sprinted down the street and out of sight. 

Kavinsky winced as he looked down at the cigarette that was holding. Some of the cherry had dropped and singed his wrist. “Shit.” 

He patted his other hand over it and touched the small prickled part of his skin. 

If Ronan Lynch could pull things out of his dreams like he could that meant that there was another person like him. 

A weight lifted just at the realization that he wasn’t the only one anymore. 

There were possibilities. 

Maybe Ronan was the key to making his life just that more interesting. 

He pointed his hand in the direction Ronan fled, cocked his hand like it was a gun, and pretended to fire it in his direction. 

“Got you in my sights now, Lynch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that is the end of it. I enjoyed working on this and while there are other things I wanted to add or do differently, I think I am overall pretty happy with how this turned out. If you enjoyed the story comment, kudos or reach out to me at here. 
> 
> If you'd like to see some more detailed shots of Sin's art, please go [here](https://sterlynwrites.tumblr.com/post/622866696305328128/life-is-a-fucking-nightmare). Also again, please go check out their art [here](https://sinplaytheartist.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Last but not least, I also worked with the guidance from headcanons that I found and asked permission to use from [xla-hainex](https://xla-hainex.tumblr.com/) and the posts they did with [sixth-name](https://sixth-name.tumblr.com/). Thank you again!


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